


maybe i'm waking up today

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Series: after the night, the morning comes (or: star wars lawyers au) [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, DD AU, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, Vigilantism, redemption arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5784487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I was going to make a difference. I was going to clean up the city.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“And you still can,” says Obi-wan.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I don’t have the license to practice law, I’m technically homeless and crashing in your spare bedroom, and all I did was make things worse,” says Anakin, a little more bitter than he means to be.</i>
</p><p>or: ten things Anakin Skywalker does after being released from jail. (alternatively: Anakin Skywalker tries to fix a coffeemaker and his relationships. he's moderately successful in the former. the latter's taking more work than he thought, but he's trying.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i'll be a better man today

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to [the Anakin-as-Marci AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5734480) that literally nobody asked for! whoops.

i. Anakin knocks on Obi-wan’s door about a week after his release, carrying two duffel bags and not much else, soaked to the bone and shivering in the cold of the apartment building.

“What in the _hell_ ,” is Obi-wan’s truly eloquent response, when he opens the door. His hair sticks out every which way, and he’s dressed in boxers and--

Anakin blinks. “Is that my old Captain America shirt?” he demands.

Obi-wan stares at him, then looks down at his shirt. “I’d forgotten it was yours,” he says. “That explains why it was always rather big on me.” He looks up again and says, “But I doubt you came here to demand your shirt back.”

“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes,” Anakin grumbles. “I, uh. I may have. I may have been kicked out of Watto’s place.”

Obi-wan raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t say it,” says Anakin.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” says Obi-wan, innocently.

“You’re _thinking_ it, though,” says Anakin.

Obi-wan raises the other eyebrow, and says, “I didn’t know you had mind-reading powers now.”

“You know what I mean!” Anakin half-shouts. His hands are loaded down with bags, otherwise he would’ve thrown them up in the air. He settles for giving Obi-wan a glare instead. “Yes, you told me not to stay with Watto, yes, he was a shithead, _yes, you told me so._ ”

“I was really thinking about how soaked you are,” says Obi-wan, “but it’s nice to hear you say that I told you so, for once.”

“You are such an asshole,” says Anakin. Then he lets out a breath and sags against the doorframe. “Can I stay here for the night?” he asks. “I’ll--I’ll call somebody in the morning. Kitster, probably, his couch is nice. It’s plush.”

“You can stay for as long as you like,” says Obi-wan, stepping aside to let him in. “I’ve a guest room I don’t even use all that much. You can stay there.”

Anakin steps inside, then, and drops his duffel bags onto the couch. “Who broke your window?” he asks, taking in the tarpaulin covering Obi-wan’s window.

“Someone who was rather adamant about my dropping a case,” says Obi-wan. “It’s taken care of, before you ask. We won.”

“Someone _threatened your life_ ,” Anakin says, dread dropping like a heavy weight into the pit of his stomach.

“And as you can see, they didn’t succeed,” says Obi-wan, coolly, as though it doesn’t _matter_. “At least not in their threat. If they were aiming for a mild inconvenience though, they’ve succeeded there, I haven’t got the money to have my window repaired.”

Anakin opens his mouth, _I could pay for it_ on the tip of his tongue, before he remembers--he’s broke. His apartment’s gone, he’s paying off the debts he incurred while he was in jail, and no one in this damn city’s going to take on someone with a record, even if he was a star witness. No one except Obi-wan, anyway.

“Does it happen often?” he asks, instead.

“People threatening my life?” Obi-wan asks. “We live in Hell’s Kitchen. How often do you think it happens?”

Anakin lets out a long breath. “Too often,” he says. “I was going to make a difference. I was going to clean up the city.”

“And you still can,” says Obi-wan.

“I don’t have the license to practice law, I’m technically homeless and crashing in your spare bedroom, and all I did was make things worse,” says Anakin, a little more bitter than he means to be. “How am I still going to make a difference?”

“Well, for starters,” says Obi-wan, unruffled, “you’re working with us. And as we’ve already toppled a rather powerful crime lord--”

“--with my help--”

“--with _your_ help,” continues Obi-wan, his mouth curving into a grin, “I think you’ve already begun to make a difference.” He yawns, then, and says, “I’ll go back to sleep now, and we can talk on the way to work tomorrow.”

“Night,” says Anakin, watching him go. The second Obi-wan shuts his bedroom door, Anakin flops down onto the couch and lets out a breath, looks up at the ceiling. The paint is peeling away at the corners, and there’s a stain near one corner that Anakin is fairly certain means Obi-wan’s got a leak. Maybe he can pester Obi-wan into calling the superintendent.

Or not. After all, it’s not like he’s planning on staying.

\--

(Kitster’s nicer about it than Anakin knows he deserves, deep in some secret part of him that remembers the boy with a collar around his neck and Leia in a hospital bed and that sickening knot his stomach kept twisting into so many times over the years, but even then--it’s a no.

Well.

What did he expect.)

\--

ii. Ahsoka is--well. She’s late. Anakin shouldn’t be worried, god knows Ahsoka’s been late to class more than once back in college, but he finds himself looking up at the doors to see if she comes through anyway.

“Gotta ask you something,” says Solo with a sniff of the donuts Anakin had gotten him and his very hairy, very heavily-accented friend Chewbacca, “was Tano always late back when you knew her?”

Chewbacca says--something, Anakin can’t tell, his accent is so thick.

Solo pales in answer. “Oh god, Chewie, _why_ ,” he says.

“I’m not even going to ask,” says Anakin. “And--not _always_ , but sometimes she did. When she was having trouble balancing a lot of shit all at once.”

“Running your own law firm’s gotta be tough on you, I s’pose,” says Solo, biting into the donut. “Holy _shit_ , how’d you find these?”

“Bribery,” says Anakin. Which is true, sort of. Luminara likes spicy food, and that’s one of Anakin’s non-criminal specialties. If sometimes they talk about him and Barriss and the damage the two of them have done to themselves and to the city, well, that’s not something Solo needs to know, seniority aside.

(And when did an _intern_ have seniority over him?

Wait.)

Chewbacca points a croissant at him and says something unintelligible. It sounds more like growling to Anakin than actual words, but for some reason Solo seems to understand it, because he huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, Chewie’s right,” he says, “you’re supposed to be _reformed_ , right?”

“You tell Obi-wan or Sni-- _Ahsoka_ ,” says Anakin, a little proud of himself for barely tripping over Obi-wan’s real name, unlike with Ahsoka, “and see if I get you any more donuts.”

“Fair,” says Solo. “Fine, I’ll keep your dirty little secret, long as you keep getting these really good donuts.”

“Deal,” says Anakin.

\--

There’s two donuts left in the box when Ahsoka finally comes in, looking exhausted, a purplish bruise blooming just over her right eyebrow. “Hey, Chewie, Han,” she cheerfully says, then, less cheerfully: “Skywalker.”

Which, Anakin supposes, is an upgrade from the frosty “Vader” that greeted him on his first day. But what really pulls his attention isn’t Ahsoka’s tone, it’s her bruise, standing out against her brown skin.

“You all right?” he asks.

“Jesus, Tano,” says Han, standing up, “you run into a door again?”

“Wait,” says Anakin, “when did you start _running into doors_ , you’re _never_ that clumsy--”

“No, I tripped while taking out the trash,” says Ahsoka.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” says Anakin, getting to his feet and crossing the room, “let me see that--”

Ahsoka’s hand is up in a flash, gripping his wrist just as he reaches out on instinct. It’s a strong grip she’s got, and Anakin’s distantly surprised--when did his friend get this strong, what has he missed in the years since the break, since he burned all his bridges by accepting Palpatine’s offer? “You’ve seen it,” she says. “It’s fine, it’ll heal.”

 _It isn’t fine,_ he wants to snap, _you’re hurt, Snips, someone hurt you, who did it, let me--_

“It’s fine,” Ahsoka repeats, letting go of his hand. Anakin lets it drop to his side, and steps away for Han and Chewbacca to take over, Chewbacca grumbling in a heavily-accented growl and Han echoing in irritated tones about how much concealer Ahsoka must’ve gone through in a year.

But he can’t help the way his heart twists into knots, at the sight of the bruise, the rage that simmers just underneath the surface.

\--

“I’m worried about Snips--Ahsoka, I mean.”

Obi-wan looks up from his laptop, reading glasses slipping further down his nose as he frowns. Anakin’s not going to lie, it looks kind of attractive on him, but. Well. There’s still a lot of shit between them.

“Go on,” says Obi-wan, shutting his laptop down.

Anakin sighs, slumps into the seat. They’re working late at the office--Solo went home hours ago, and Ahsoka too, just thirty minutes ago. They’re the only ones manning the office, him and Obi-wan.

“I’ve never known her to be clumsy or late _regularly_ ,” he says. “ _I tripped while taking out the trash_? That just sounds like an excuse.” He runs a hand through his hair, and says, “Did she meet someone? After Barriss, I mean.”

“You could ask her yourself,” says Obi-wan.

“She’s still mad at me,” says Anakin. “And you’re her partner now.”

Obi-wan lets out a breath, and says, “When you put it that way--no, she didn’t, a few flings aside.” He takes his glasses off, folds them and sets them aside.

“So what,” says Anakin, “she’s joined an underground fight club?”

“If she did,” says Obi-wan, dryly, and with an underlying hint of bitterness as if he knows something after all, “I doubt she’d tell either of us.”

\--

(An interlude:

“I’m running out of concealer,” says Ahsoka, lying on Padmé’s couch, most of her suit stripped off to give access to the bruises and scars coloring her skin like a patchwork quilt underneath.

Padmé sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That’s going to be a problem,” she says, pressing an ice pack to Ahsoka’s rib and hearing the younger girl let out a pained hiss. “I could lend you mine--wait.”

“Yeah, too light for me,” says Ahsoka, with a small chuckle. “ _Ow_ \--at least it’s not stitches this time?”

“No, this time it’s a concussion,” says Padmé. “If I end up having to use hair dye in the next few weeks, I’m blaming you.”

“It’s not all my fault,” says Ahsoka.

“True,” Padmé says, tartly, “both my children have a part to play as well. But I’m placing most of the blame at your feet, Ms. _I go out every night to punch criminals in the face, so what if they punch back_.”

“I don’t _sound_ like that,” Ahsoka huffs indignantly.

“I’ve been spending the better part of a year stitching you up,” Padmé tells her, “I know exactly what you sound like by now.”)

\--

iii. Poe Dameron really, _really_ likes donuts. And Finn’s new bar, as Anakin quickly finds out.

“I helped him name it,” says Poe, proud as anything as they step inside, Anakin carrying a bag of donuts. Anakin’s quietly glad, that one of them made it out of Palpatine’s empire relatively intact--Finn had never been very closely involved with the bloodier aspects of things. Hell, the kid even seems happy just wiping down the counter, as the two of them take their seats.

“Mr. Va-- _Skywalker_ , sir,” says Finn, switching names in a hurry. He straightens up, an automatic response by now. “What can I get you?” he asks, earnest.

“What, none for me?” Poe huffs.

“You drop by and order the same thing so often I don’t even have to ask you what you want anymore,” says Finn, relaxing visibly and grinning at Poe, and Anakin’s heart twists itself into knots when he realizes--Padmé used to smile at him that way. “Put some variety into your drinks, Dameron.”

“You can stick a little umbrella in it,” says Poe, with a grin just as bright, “that counts as variety.”

“I just need a beer,” says Anakin. There’s a twist in his gut that he’s grown all too used to by now that says he’s an outsider, half a stranger to everyone he was once close to. “And some time with Officer Dameron.” He holds up the bag of donuts and says, “As per his arrangement with Snips-- _Ahsoka_.”

To their credit, neither Finn nor Poe comment on his slip. Instead, Finn nods, and says, “Yeah, I can do that! Hey, you should drop by on Friday sometime, it’s karaoke night, Poe’s a great singer.”

Anakin does not miss the way Poe blushes at the praise, nor does he miss how Finn glances back at Poe as he starts in on their drinks, the warmth in his eyes like Poe Dameron hung the damn moon. How could he? Neither of them are at all subtle.

(He fell in love with Padmé because she looked like she had the stars in her eyes, and he once kissed Obi-wan under the light of a full moon, the two of them drunk off semi-legal vodka and post-finals giddiness.

And look what a mess he’s made of both relationships.)

“I’ll try,” says Anakin, his tone casual, “but you know how it is, working for an up-and-coming law firm.” He glances at Poe and says, “So, about the Shan case…”

\--

He gets home.

 _Home_ , in this case, being Obi-wan’s place. His bags are mostly empty by now, his stuff’s in the spare bedroom, and his toothbrush is in the bathroom. He keeps scanning for houses and apartments on sale in the papers, of course, but somehow none of them seem quite right.

When he gets home, Obi-wan is glaring at the coffeemaker like it’s personally murdered his dog.

“We may need a new coffeemaker,” says Obi-wan, not taking his eyes off the traitorous appliance as Anakin flops down on the couch, letting his messenger bag drop to the floor with a heavy thud. “This one’s given up the ghost at last.”

“What, old Gertrude’s finally given up?” Anakin asks, getting to his feet and coming closer.

“You and your habit of nicknaming your gadgets,” Obi-wan says. “Yes, unfortunately.”

Anakin stares at the coffeemaker. He recognizes those stickers. He and Ahsoka stuck them on the damn thing, drunk off their asses and giddy on the idea of personalizing their brand-new coffeemaker. Gertrude’s seen them through many a hell week, through thick and thin, through The Break and all that’s come after it.

 _It’s just a machine,_ Palpatine would probably scoff. No, scratch that, he definitely would have.

“I can fix it,” he says.

Obi-wan looks up at him, eyebrows raised in incredulity. “It’s broken, I doubt even you can repair it,” he says. “We can get a new one--”

“I can _fix it_ ,” says Anakin, almost giddy with the thought. Here, here is something he’s good with, something he _can’t_ fuck up beyond recognition. “Ben, just--I’ll fix it, let me fix it, she’ll work as good as new.”

“All right,” says Obi-wan, sounding very bemused. “But I just want you to know that we’d be better off just getting a new one.”

“Nope,” says Anakin, cheerily. “Trust me on this, Ben, I can fix this.”

\--

iv. “Hi, dad!” Luke calls from the doorway, and even at sixteen his first reaction is to launch himself bodily at his father and hug the shit out of him, as though Anakin didn’t come by the Organas’ house the day before to talk to him.

Anakin stumbles back, huffs out a surprised laugh, and hugs back. “Hey, Luke,” he says.

Leia strolls in second. Her leg’s healed by now, and for some reason she’s taken to wearing pants and long skirts. “Hey, dad,” she says, much less enthusiastic.

Padmé’s last, and she doesn’t cross the threshold. Instead she leans against the doorway and gives a somewhat exhausted smile, folding her arms across her chest. “Be good to your father,” she says, “god knows, between Ahsoka and your friend Han, he’s probably going prematurely grey already.”

“Han is not _my_ friend, Mom, he’s Luke’s,” calls Leia from the kitchen. “What happened to the coffeemaker?”

“It broke!” shouts Anakin, as Luke races back out to grab sleeping bags and suitcases, yelling something back at Leia about how that’s only true because she has a _crush_. “I’m fixing it.”

“Good luck,” says Leia, and the skeptical way her eyebrow rises says all he needs to know about how she feels on it. “And I do _not_ have a crush on that _laserbrain_!”

“I’m so sorry to have to dump them on you, Ani,” says Padmé with a sigh, pulling Anakin out of his alarm about _his daughter and Han fucking Solo_ , “but this conference can’t be put off. I know you’re busy--”

“Not really,” says Anakin. “Secretary.” He shrugs, says, “Technically, I’m just there to look pretty and reel in the clients. Maybe make coffee every once in a while.”

“If that’s your job, perhaps we should’ve promoted Han instead,” says Obi-wan, coming in just then with Leia’s duffel bags. Poking out from one bag is the pointed end of an arrow.

“No, Solo’s too scruffy,” says Anakin, after a moment’s thought. “And you _hate_ his coffee.”

“Han’s not _that_ scruffy!” Luke protests as he comes in, pushing past Obi-wan with a _sorry, Ben_ that, from anyone else, would’ve sounded insincere.

“Oh, yes, he is!” Leia shouts.

“I thought you _liked_ scruffy!” Luke yells back.

“Wait,” says Anakin, temporarily delayed alarm bells finally going off in his head, “what?”

“I haven’t even left yet and they’re starting on it again,” Padmé sighs, as Obi-wan takes off to the kitchen to help Leia shove breakfast cereals into the cupboards (and very discreetly hide the alcohol). She looks up at Anakin, and the light from outside catches on her hair and illuminates her face like a damn halo, and Anakin loves her, has never quite stopped loving her, through the divorce and the years apart and the trial and everything.

Padmé feels the same way still, he knows that. They’ve talked about it numerous times, while he was in jail.

But sometimes love just isn’t enough to overcome a history of mistakes, and all the love in the world couldn’t erase the wrongs he did to her.

He says, “They’re going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss them too,” says Padmé. She smiles up at him, sad and tired, and it breaks his heart to see it. “Take care of yourself too, all right?”

“You too,” says Anakin, shoving his hands into his pockets and resisting the urge to brush her hair back behind her ear. They’re still on shaky ground, after all.

And Padmé steps forward and, tentatively, wraps him in a hug.

\--

(An interlude, years and years ago:

“Holy shit,” the man slurs, concussed from the little fall he took from the fire escape, “are you an angel?”

As first meetings go, it’s not the best Padmé has ever had, but when he looks up at her--with those blue, blue eyes--the first thing that comes to mind is, _oh wow._

“No,” says Padmé, with a smile. “A med student.” She holds her hand out and says, “Come on, I’ve got a sofa with really soft cushions.”

“I take it back, you’re even better than an angel,” he says, taking her hand and letting her drag him out of the dumpster--he’s _heavy_ , and very, very tall. He’s just Padmé’s type, and oh, boy, she’s in for it now. “I’m Anakin.”

“Padmé,” she says, and Anakin grins, bright and blinding against the darkness, before he leans against her shoulder and proceeds to pass out.)

(Another interlude:

“Hey, Mom, what’s that?”

Padmé’s thumb brushes over the wooden pendant, a reminder of when things were much brighter, when Anakin’s smile was softer and their lives seemed perfect. “It’s a necklace,” she says.

Luke leans on her shoulder, the way his father once did, years and years ago. “It looks pretty,” he comments.

“It’s yours if you want it,” says Padmé, and Luke’s eyes widen before he grins.

It’s Anakin’s old smile, and it hurts to see.

“I’ll take care of it, Mom, I promise,” he says, solemn, and Padmé picks the necklace up off its stand and places it into Luke’s waiting hands.)

\--

v. Palpatine absolutely _despised_ Fulcrum. How could he not, the vigilante had sabotaged many of his major operations, and Anakin had been privy to many of Palpatine’s plans to get rid of her. The bombings had very nearly succeeded in that. From what he knows, so did Palpatine himself, after having Oola killed.

Before the explosions, before the boy in the collar, before Leia in the hospital bed, Anakin would’ve agreed--Fulcrum, and her fellow vigilantes, needed to be stopped before their misguided crusade could go too far.

Anakin’s self-aware enough to figure that’s kind of bullshit, now. He’s--still working on the rest of the bullshit, it’s a work in progress and he suspects he’ll never be done, but at least he’s doing surprisingly well, considering how much bullshit there was to start with.

Still, he can’t stop the initial reaction of anger when Fulcrum jumps down from a fire escape, when he’s bringing a few supplies for fixing Gertrude home.

Okay, fine, when he’s being _mugged_ , but in his defense, he very definitely had the situation in hand.

“I had them,” he grumbles, getting to his feet.

“Right,” says Fulcrum, sounding annoyed, “ _sure_ you did. They weren’t handing you your ass on a platter.”

“I’m a little out of practice,” Anakin says, reaching up to brush his hair back. His fingers brush against his temple and come away stained with blood.

“Your ass,” Fulcrum repeats, “on a _platter_.”

Anakin fixes her with a glare. He’s not sure if she can see it through the helmet covering her eyes, but it makes him feel a little better.

“Why are you out so late, anyway?” Fulcrum asks.

Anakin shrugs. “Our coffee machine broke,” he says. “My--The guy I’m rooming with wants to throw it out, but I can fix it.” He lets out a breath, and says, “It’s one of the few things I can fix, honestly.”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to take your roommate’s side,” says Fulcrum. “Sometimes some things just can’t be fixed.”

“I know that,” says Anakin. “I know it a little too well by now.” He slumps against the wall, the adrenaline from earlier beginning to fade. “You know what I did. _That_ , I can’t do anything about. But I can do something about the coffeemaker.”

The vigilante cocks her head to the side. With her eyes hidden from view like this, it’s hard to tell what she’s feeling. Probably confusion over why someone’s spilling their feelings to her, which says a lot about the general state of Anakin’s life post-Palpatine, that he’s spilling his feelings to a vigilante who he _heavily disliked_ almost a year ago.

“So you’re projecting,” says Fulcrum.

“You’re not my therapist,” Anakin says, a little petulantly as he slumps downward.

Fulcrum’s mouth twists upwards in a--smile? Oh, god. The vigilante who’s been beating up criminals in and around Hell’s Kitchen thinks he’s _funny_ , can the ground just swallow him up now. “No,” she acknowledges. “But you’re a change from the usual. Most people _run_ , you know, when they see the sticks and the black suit.”

“I’m not one for running,” says Anakin, surprisingly casual considering he’s talking to _Fulcrum_. Obi-wan and Padmé used to joke that somewhere along the way his sense of self-preservation decided to take a long vacation and then never came back. Sometimes, he’s pretty sure they’re right. “Never did make the track team.”

Fulcrum--

\--Fulcrum _sits down next to him_. Pulls a knee up to her chest and tilts her head up as though to look at him, though how she sees anything through that mask he’ll never know.

“Don’t you have a city to look after?” Anakin asks.

“Hell’s Kitchen is _ten blocks_ ,” says Fulcrum. “It hardly qualifies as a city.”

“You’re a great micromanager, then,” says Anakin.

Fulcrum snickers, as if there’s something she knows that he doesn’t. Then again, what does Anakin know about her, anyway? She wears a mask, she’s fucked up Palpatine’s empire through sheer grit, stubborn will and two white sticks, and that’s the sum total of what he knows about her.

For some reason, though, there’s something weirdly--familiar, about her. Something he should _know_ , though he can’t for the life of him figure out what it is exactly.

\--

The next day, Ahsoka shows up late--as usual, and it’s worrying that it’s become _usual_ for her to be late--and dumps a bag full of files on her desk.

Obi-wan makes a noise at the back of his throat that sounds a little like _why_.

Anakin glances over from his desk, where he’s painstakingly assembling a new control panel for Gertrude. “I’m not cleaning that mess up, I’ve got a control panel to attend to,” he says. “We have an intern who can do that.”

Solo, who’s reading a book that Anakin is pretty sure is a romance novel based off the fact that it’s been meticulously covered up with nondescript blue paper, looks up and scowls at him. “You’re lower on the pecking order than I am,” he says.

“ _I’m_ fixing our coffeemaker,” Anakin shoots back.

“Believe it or not, Han,” says Ahsoka with a grin, “there’s a method to the madness.”

Anakin points his screwdriver at her. “You said that your freshman year before finals,” he says. “And then you nearly missed the deadline Professor Koon set, because you couldn’t find your notes.”

“Like _you_ were any better, Skywalker,” Ahsoka says. “I seem to remember tripping over your pet projects every time I came over because you kept leaving them around.”

“Even though I kept _reminding_ you not to,” Obi-wan mutters.

“They were too big to fit under the bed,” says Anakin, defensively.

Solo says, dryly, “I’m still here, by the way. In case all of you forgot about me on your trip down memory lane.” He shuts his book and sets it down on the copier. “Since you’re such a whiz kid at fixing shit,” he says, falsely cheerful, “how ‘bout you try fixing the printer? Damn thing runs like a snail.”

Anakin waves his gloved hand at the printer, his eyes now fixed on the control panel he’s still fiddling with. “That’s next,” he says, absently.

\--

He stays up late, most nights, working on Gertrude. Sometimes Obi-wan sits up with him, sometimes Luke or Leia, but tonight he’s the only one up--Luke and Leia are in bed, he checked a few hours ago, and Obi-wan should be asleep by now. That’s fine, he’s good at losing himself in his work, and for this kind of work, that’s not a bad thing.

Unlike with his previous job, but that’s not a train of thought he’s going to hop on right now. Instead, he very carefully rewires the control panel.

“Still up?” Obi-wan’s voice drifts in, snapping Anakin out of his thoughts. “You should really go to bed, Anakin.”

“Can’t,” says Anakin, waving his left hand at the disassembled coffee machine’s parts, scattered over the table. “Have to finish this.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Yesterday,” says Anakin.

Obi-wan shakes his head. “I seem to recall you arguing heatedly with me over the Plutt dispute yesterday night,” he says. “What was that you said?”

Anakin stops, looks up at him then. Obi-wan’s hair is mussed from sleep, and he can barely keep his eyes even halfway open. He doesn’t have any business being awake at this hour and lecturing Anakin over going to sleep. “I told you to use the Hardeen defense,” he says. “I was _very adamant_.” He narrows his eyes at Obi-wan. “You didn’t use it, did you?”

“I’ve already told you why the Hardeen defense is a bad idea,” says Obi-wan.

“And I’ve told you why it’s a _good_ one if you spin it well,” says Anakin, standing up. “You’re a great lawyer, but I don’t _get_ why you’re so reluctant, and Tarkin’s dumb as _bricks_ \--”

“I’m not _you_ ,” says Obi-wan.

Anakin blinks at him. “Obviously, yeah,” he says.

“I mean,” says Obi-wan, “that you’re not coping as well as you think with being disbarred.”

Which is _true_ , but Anakin bristles anyway. “I’m _coping_ ,” he says, but he can’t stop the bitterness from creeping into his tone. “That should count for something, right?”

“There’s a concept called, oh, what was it, _backseat driving_ \--”

There’s a crash just then, and Anakin’s heart leaps into his throat. “Luke and Leia,” he whispers, then grabs hold of his screwdriver, holding it like he might just stab somebody. If someone’s snuck into Luke and Leia’s room he knows he _will_.

Obi-wan follows behind him, picking up a very heavy-looking book as they creep across the living room to Luke and Leia’s temporary bedroom. Last Anakin checked it had been locked, and he dares not try it again, just in case. _Just in case._

He could pick the lock. He’s got a lockpick in his pocket, brand-new and semi-legally obtained. Hell, he’s even got the key, he can just jam it in and unlock the door.

But that’d take _time_ , and whoever’s creeping about in Luke and Leia’s room and _whispering_ to themselves could do _anything_ to his children while he’s picking the lock.

“I am so sorry,” he says to Obi-wan, before he backs up and _rams_ the door with his shoulder, putting all his weight behind the blow.

And he’s not a very light guy.

The door swings open, just as Obi-wan scowls at him and says, “I hope you know how hard it’ll be to find new doors--”

“Um,” says Leia, clad in a purple hoodie, a bow and a quiver full of arrows strapped to her back. She’s halfway through hauling Luke through the window, and Luke is--Luke’s got a _cut_ on his _head_ and he’s wearing red and blue spandex with a very distinct spiderweb pattern and Anakin is distantly sure that if he looks down some _smartass_ would’ve yanked the floor out from under him.

“Oh,” says Obi-wan, stunned.

“What,” says Anakin, surprised at how _calm_ he sounds when he’s internally panicking worse than Ahsoka during the final hell week, “is going _on_ here?”

“Hi, Dad,” Luke woozily mumbles.

“Do we have any bandages?” asks Leia. “I’ll explain, but first, we need to get Luke patched up.”


	2. i'll love the world like i should

vi. The next time Anakin sees Padmé, he drags her out to a shop, buys her that croissant she loves, and then says, in a low and panicked voice, “Luke and Leia are _vigilantes_.”

Padmé stares at him, and says, “Anakin, you know I know that already.”

“ _Vigilantes_ ,” says Anakin, his voice slightly hysterical. He can be forgiven, he’s just had to readjust his view of his _children_ , who are apparently the same people as two law-breaking vigilantes and _why the fuck didn’t he go to Maz’s_ , Maz’s has alcohol. Lots of very strong alcohol.

He puts his face in his hands and makes a strangled noise.

“If it helps, I’ve gotten them to agree to go out only twice a week,” says Padmé. “I’m blaming you by the way. You and your _saving this city_ complex.”

“You couldn’t have gotten them to agree to go out _never_?”

“They wouldn’t have,” says Padmé. “They’d have said _yes_ and snuck out anyway. Especially Leia.” She fixes him with a _look_. “She got that from you.”

“Oh, no, she got that from you too,” Anakin grumbles. “God, Padmé. We fucked up. Or, okay, I fucked up, our kids are breaking the _law_ and they’re getting _hurt_ and if I try to stop it they won’t listen and _they were there_ , oh god, Palpatine wanted to turn Hawkeye and Spider-man because it was _my idea_ and Luke _saw_ me at the docks, Padmé, him and Fulcrum, whoever she is, and _they’ve been hurt_ and sometimes _I_ helped hurt them and--”

“Ani,” says Padmé, her voice breaking through his panic, her hand on his shoulder anchoring him to reality. He realizes, vaguely, that there are tears stinging his eyes. “ _Anakin_. Breathe.”

“They’re just _kids_ ,” he chokes. “They should be--They should be sneaking out to watch movies with their dates and complaining about homework and stupid teachers and--they shouldn’t be _fighting criminals in back alleys_.”

“I wish they didn’t too, believe me,” says Padmé. “I had to patch Leia up. My little girl, Ani. I thought the worst thing I’d ever have to patch up on her body was a--a skinned knee, that bone she broke when she was five and tried to climb a tree because Luke dared her to, not--not a _knife wound_ , because she didn’t dodge in time.”

“A _knife wound_ ,” Anakin repeats. He’s going to find whoever hurt his daughter. He’s going to find them and rip them limb from limb with his bare hands.

Some incredibly morbid part of himself notes that he’d have to do that to himself too, considering that turning Hawkeye and Spider-man was _his_ idea, that the explosions were also partly his fault, that he himself personally interrogated Hawkeye not that long ago.

“They shouldn’t have to fix things,” he says. “They’re only kids. For fuck’s sake, Padmé, Leia ribbed Luke about his crush on his friend Biggs yesterday, that’s _all_ they should worry about.”

Padmé moves her chair then, till she’s sitting next to him, till they can hold on to each other and grieve together. “They took after the both of us too much, Ani,” she says. “We always did want to fix things.”

And look what that’s gotten them both--years and years of regret and guilt, a marriage shattered beyond repair.

He takes her hand, the motion hesitant, fully expecting her to slap it away. He wouldn’t even be angry, he knows, just resigned.

She doesn’t pull away.

(He held her hand the same way at their wedding, hesitant and afraid. It’s fitting, somehow.)

“They didn’t do what I did, though,” he says. “The second the chance came up, neither of them took it. They’re one step ahead of me in that already.” And he’s proud of them, for that, for knowing better than he did, for not falling into the same trap he did. “They’re good kids, Padmé. I don’t want to--to--”

“I know,” says Padmé, “I don’t want it too.”

\--

“So,” says Anakin, feeling kind of stupid as he sits out on the fire escape, in the cold, dark night waiting on someone he isn’t sure can even hear him, “Fulcrum, you there?”

It takes a moment, but eventually someone lands on the fire escape beside him. Dark suit, dark helmet, white sticks--yeah, it’s Fulcrum all right. “Yeah,” she says. “Hawkeye mentioned that you’d found out about her and Spider-man.”

“So you know they’re my kids?”

Fulcrum nods. “They’re good kids,” she says. “They shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Says the woman who is doing this,” says Anakin, crossing his arms. “How long did you know?”

“Since the explosions,” says Fulcrum. “Spider-man and I had to take Hawkeye to Padmé, and she recognized them both. Things got very complicated.”

Anakin’s stomach churns, twists into a sickening knot. Leia had looked so small and pale in that hospital bed, and all he can think now is _my fault, my fault, mine_. “But they worked with you before the explosions,” he says. It’s not a question--he’s seen Fulcrum teaming up with one or both of them before.

“I didn’t know at the time,” she says. “I didn’t ask.” She waves a hand and says, “Vigilante thing, you know. I was just glad for the back-up, especially after Yavin.”

Anakin pulls his knees up to his chest. He remembers the Yavin case, remembers the anger in Tarkin’s eyes after Hawkeye broke out of her cell with the drive needed for Mothma to win her case. More to the point, he remembers how, just for a moment, Hawkeye seemed shocked to her core, when he came into her cell.

He knows why, now. He can’t believe he didn’t notice it before--the day after, Leia had stopped talking to him in more than a curt monotone.

“I interrogated her,” he says, dully. “I _threatened_ her. I let Tarkin _threaten_ her, hell, I _told_ him to, because we needed the info and she had it and wouldn’t give it up.” And what kind of father _does_ that, he wonders.

Fulcrum nods. “I never knew why she was so shaken up, after Yavin.” Her lips press together into a thin line, and she says, “I guess I do now.”

Anakin’s a tall guy, naturally intimidating in stature, but he knows how to make himself small when he needs to. He curls in on himself, bile rising in his throat. He hadn’t known who Hawkeye was, had only seen her as an obstacle in the way. But that’s no excuse--he still threatened his own _daughter_. No wonder Leia hates him, barely trusts him.

Fulcrum doesn’t say a word. For a second her hand comes up, as if she wants to pat him on the back, but then she draws it back.

“She broke her arm when she was five, once,” says Anakin. “Before the explosions--I thought that was going to be the worst thing that ever happened to her. It _hurt_ to see her, she was crying and Luke was crying and I couldn't--I couldn’t help, I didn’t know how.” He huffs out a breath. “And--when she was six, this asshole kid pushed her into a puddle and they fought, and I had to threaten the principal, you know? And--I told her. I told her I wouldn’t let anything hurt her. I _promised_.”

“You can’t do that, you know,” says Fulcrum. “Everyone gets hurt, sooner or later. No one can keep that from happening.”

“I _threatened_ her,” he says. Repeats, really, because he keeps coming back to that, the thinly-veiled threats he made about how he could find out her whole life, find out her loved ones and her friends, find out just how badly she could be hurt without laying a finger on her. “I promised her. And--And look what happened to _that_.”

Fulcrum’s quiet. She cocks her head to the side, as if listening to something else, then says, “I’m not usually an advice kind of person--”

“No,” says Anakin, dryly, “you’re usually a _beat until unconscious_ kind.”

“--but I’m going to give you this,” says Fulcrum, “if only because I happen to like Hawkeye and you seem like you’re honestly trying: talk to her and Spider-man instead of other random vigilantes jumping around Hell’s Kitchen during the night.”

“And how am I going to start that conversation?” Anakin asks, as Fulcrum gets to her feet and climbs up onto the railing. “ _Hey, kids, I’m sorry about threatening your lives on multiple occasions, let’s go on a trip to the zoo to make up for it_?”

“Well,” says Fulcrum, with a strangely familiar smile, “it’s a start.”

Then she jumps off the railing, hits the top of a dumpster, and bounces off for a wall run, catching the top of a fence and jumping off that to grab onto another fire escape.

“Show-off,” Anakin grumbles.

\--

The next time Luke and Leia come over, Anakin grabs them both and drags them to the kitchen, where Obi-wan’s waiting on his waffles to pop out of the toaster.

“If this is about the vigilante thing,” Luke starts, looking pleadingly up at Anakin, “Mom already told us--”

“We can’t stop,” Leia starts, at nearly the same time as Luke, all business, “just because Palpatine’s gone doesn’t mean we can take a break--”

“If I could get both of you to listen to me when you’re set on that, it’d be a miracle,” says Anakin. “And I have a feeling I’m not getting one any time soon.” He slumps into a seat, as Obi-wan deposits a plate of toasted waffles in front of him. “Thanks,” he says.

“Those are for your children,” says Obi-wan, as Luke reaches across to snatch up a waffle. “Vigilantism is a hungry business.”

“And a dangerous one,” Anakin mutters. Then he glances at Leia, who’s watching him warily. “I talked to Fulcrum,” he starts. “About--About Yavin.”

Leia stills. “What about Yavin?” she asks.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts.

Leia stares at him. It’s a look Anakin recognizes, it’s the one Padmé wore in court years ago during the divorce, the one with steel and fire behind it.

(If Padmé’s asked, she’ll say Leia got the look from _Anakin_ , her anger simmering underneath her skin like her father’s.)

“You’re _sorry,_ ” she says, flatly. “Tarkin threatened to--he said that he could find out who I was close to, _every single one of them_ , and send someone to, oh, _pay them a visit_.” Her fists clench as she leans forward, the words laced with venom, sharpened to _hurt_. “You-- _you_ \--you said that they would save me for _last_ , that after everyone that I ever loved was _dead_ , when I had no one else to cry over, they’d come after _me_ , and it’d be a goddamn _mercy_.” Her voice rises with every word, and she spits out her next sentence with all the anger she can muster: “And now you’re saying you’re _sorry_?”

Anakin flinches back. He’s been told that his anger is a terrible thing to behold, but it’s only now that he realizes what it’s like, to have it turned on him.

“Leia--” Obi-wan starts.

“Sis--” says Luke.

“I don’t know how many nights I’ve spent without any sleep because every time I try to I dream that Mom and Luke and Ahsoka and Uncle Bail and Aunt Breha and Aunt Sabé are _dead!_ Because of _me_!” Leia yells. “Because when I go to sleep, I keep seeing _you_ , in your suit, by _his_ side, with Tarkin, with blood on your hands, because I keep being too late to save anyone--”

Luke grabs on to Leia’s hand, and says, “Leia. _Leia._ Sis.” He doesn’t look at Anakin, which is--Anakin’s not too sure how to feel about that, but he’s got one kid mad at him already, for justifiable reasons, he’s not too sure how he’ll deal if Luke starts yelling at him too. “The walls are pretty thin,” Luke adds.

Leia breathes in, out. “You don’t get to say you’re sorry and expect it to fix everything,” she says, her voice hoarse. “You just _don’t_.” _You promised,_ she doesn’t say, but it hangs in the air between them all the same.

Anakin stares at her for a heartbeat. “You have any suggestions, then?” he asks, a little more acerbic than he meant to be. “Because I can’t afford to go traipsing around the city in a hoodie looking for criminals to fight and worrying everyone who loves me--”

“I am _trying_ ,” Leia snaps, “to keep the people of this city safe from people like Palpatine!” _Like you_ , Anakin hears. “Something _you_ with all your so-called _concern_ actively worked against--”

“Damn it, Leia, you can’t keep anything safe if you _die_ in the process, and if you do, you’ll break your mother’s heart, you’ll break your brother’s--”

“I’m right here, you know,” says Luke. Anakin’s always thought him more like Padmé than anyone else, down to her unwavering faith in people, to her need to help in some way. “And you both have a point. I mean, Dad, Leia’s right, you can’t really fix everything with just an apology.”

“Thank you,” says Leia.

“But it’s a start,” says Luke. “And we’re doing good, Dad, Ben. We’re careful.”

Leia scowls at her brother in answer.

“ _Careful_ doesn’t always guarantee success,” says Obi-wan, for the first time since the argument started. “Especially not when you’re starting down a path as dangerous as this.”

“You were _in the hospital_ ,” says Anakin. “You were--that was the worst day of my life, seeing you there, in that bed with your leg in a cast and your mother at your side, and--you could’ve been hurt worse or even _killed_.” And it would’ve been his fault, _his_ , for all that he wasn’t the one who planted the bombs. “Your mother’s had enough heartbreak,” he says.

“And whose fault was that?” Leia asks.

“Mine,” says Anakin. “Don’t add on to the grief I’ve caused her, all right? Get better armor. Find a teacher who can show you how to fight with more weapons. Learn how to dodge shit better. Back each other up more, and for god’s sake _don’t get shot_.” He runs a hand through his hair, mind running through the contacts he still has that won’t immediately try to murder him on sight or turn him away the second he shows his face. “I have a friend,” he says, at last. “His name’s Rex, he’s good at boxing, you can talk to him. He and his twin--Cody, right? Your ex?”

“We’re not exes,” says Obi-wan, before he takes a sip of his tea, very steadfastly not looking at Anakin.

His cheeks, however, are flushing red, as are the tips of his ears. It’s a very attractive color on him.

“Christmas party at the Fetts’ in senior year,” says Anakin.

“It was _one time_ ,” Obi-wan heatedly says.

Luke pales, then grabs hold of Leia’s arm. “Great talk thanks gotta go see Han _bye!_ ” he babbles, all but dragging Leia out of the kitchen.

“I do not want to see Han!” yells Leia. “Luke, _let go_ \--”

“Oh,” says Anakin, “so that time I found you two in a supply closet doesn’t count? Or that time Padmé and I found his helmet, your sock, and a used--”

“Your children,” says Obi-wan, “are _right there_ \--”

“We gotta go,” says Leia, quickly changing her tune, “I, uh, I think Mothma knows some people and I’ll think about it _come on Luke let’s go_.”

\--

vii. Anakin’s not going to lie--one of the things he misses most is the courtroom. He misses holding a jury spell-bound with every word, misses ripping the opposition’s argument apart, misses how winning made him feel like he was _flying_ , like he could do anything.

It’s an addictive feeling, flying. And the worst part is that it sneaks up on you, you never know you’ve become addicted until you’re grounded and you can’t find a way back up.

“So watch _How to Get Away with Murder_ ,” says Fulcrum, when he tells her. They’re meeting up regularly, these days, often on Obi-wan’s fire escape, and if someone had said to Anakin only over a year ago that he’d be striking up a friendship with a vigilante, he’d have punched them for lying. Just goes to show how much things can change. “Or ask your roommate to bring you along to observe one.”

“I did,” says Anakin. “It isn’t the same. I don’t want to just _watch_ Ben, or some drama that fucks up how it actually happens anyway. I’ve got to _be_ doing it, because if not, what’s the damn point? I got a law degree to _help_ people.”

Fulcrum doesn’t roll her eyes. At least, Anakin’s hoping she’s not, under that helmet of hers. “And you’ve been doing a great job at helping people over the years,” she says, dryly.

Anakin deflates, a little, hunches in on himself. He’s no stranger to guilt by now, but he’s learned to float instead of letting it drown him. “I thought I was,” he says. “Stupid, right?”

“At least you’re acknowledging it,” says Fulcrum.

“It’s not like I can do much else,” Anakin dryly says. He uncurls, stretches out and lets the back of his head hit the wall behind him. “I don’t think Sni--Ahso-- _my other boss_ really trusts me to do much more than run errands.”

“You can’t really blame her,” says Fulcrum.

“No, I don’t,” says Anakin. For a second he wonders how a vigilante would know he’s working under Ahsoka as well as Obi-wan, before dismissing the thought. It’s not exactly a secret, after all. “I get it, I get why she wouldn’t. _I_ wouldn’t trust me either, so far I’ve stabbed everyone I’ve worked with in the back twice over and only feel guilty about the first time.” He runs his hand through his hair and says, “But damn it, I have to do _something_ that isn’t going out to buy _donuts_.”

“Donuts are useful, though,” Fulcrum says, then adds, somewhat hurriedly: “So I’ve heard, anyway.”

“ _Donuts_ ,” says Anakin. “We’ve got an intern for our dirty work and yet _I’m_ the donut guy. I love them but if it wasn’t for the fact that literally _no one else_ will keep me for this long, I don’t know if I’d have stayed.”

“So prove you’re trustworthy to her,” says Fulcrum, tipping her chin up to him as if in challenge. “Give her a reason to trust you again.”

“Better donuts?” Anakin tries. “I could probably get Luminara to trade me her recipe, she mentioned she was still waiting for someone to fix her stove. I could do that.”

“There’s no shortage of mechanics in this city, she could ask any one of them,” Fulcrum notes. “Heck, I know a guy.”

Anakin shakes his head. “No,” he says. “She used to rely on Barriss for anything that needed fixing.”

Fulcrum’s silent, her lips pressing together into a thin line. “Oh,” she says, softly.

“Yeah,” Anakin tiredly agrees. “It’s the least I can do for her, with her apprentice in jail.”

“You could be a full-time mechanic,” says Fulcrum. “Since you seem to like fixing things so much.”

Anakin shakes his head in answer. “No,” he says, “I’m not very good at it.”

\--

Ahsoka comes in the next day and says, “Hey, Skywalker, wanna check out Chantique’s alibi?”

Anakin looks up from Gertrude. Ahsoka’s got her hands on her hips, and she’s looking down at him with a determined tension to her jaw. “You’re not going to ask Ben?” he asks.

“Do _not_ ask Ben,” says Obi-wan, emerging from the kitchenette, “because someone’s going to have to talk to Miss Kryze when she comes by, and I certainly don’t trust either of you _or_ Han around her.”

“So you’re not going to embarrass yourself in front of her and say you’ve seen her run as Anna in _The King and I_ four times over?” Ahsoka asks, grinning.

“Or that you have even her shittiest films?” Anakin asks. “ _A New York Winter_ , Christ, that was two hours I will never get back, _ever_ \--”

“Or, ooh, that time we had to wait out in the _snow_ for _forty-five minutes_ because you wanted her signature on your playbill--”

“Or, hey, that time you blew our book money on tickets to her concert and I had to sweet-talk Zam Wessell into lending us zir torts notes because we couldn’t afford the book and you couldn’t stop _talking_ about Satine Kryze--”

“Shouldn’t you two be off right now?” Obi-wan tartly asks. “The earlier you get there, the better the chance you’ll have of getting what you need before the paparazzi descends.”

“He just wants to be impressive for Miss Kryze,” Ahsoka stage-whispers.

“I kind of want to stick around,” Anakin stage-whispers right back, “and tell her _all_ about Ben’s secret college shrine.”

“I can still _hear_ you,” Obi-wan says.

“All right, all right, we’ll be going,” says Anakin, grabbing his hoodie off the rack and shrugging it on. After some deliberation, he drags the hood up over his head as well. “Don’t let your girlfriend near Gertrude, by the way, she might get electrocuted!” he calls as Ahsoka takes his arm to drag him away, laughing like they’re in college again.

He closes his eyes, and for a moment pretends that they are.

\--

(An interlude:

“You are going to have to tell him, you know.”

Ahsoka glances up from the file. For once, the city’s quiet enough that Fulcrum can rest for a night, and she’s come over to Obi-wan’s apartment under the pretense of needing someone to look over Chantique’s witness testimony with her.

In truth, she’s also there to check on Anakin. She’s been dropping by Obi-wan’s regularly to do that, as Fulcrum, yet somehow--somehow those have gone from simple check-ups to actual conversations. She’s pretty sure Anakin’s trying to befriend Fulcrum, which is. Well.

It’s kind of weird, to say the least.

What’s even weirder is that, when she thinks about it--she’s kind of jealous. She _had_ that friendship before, that easy camaraderie that Anakin’s trying to recreate with Fulcrum, but then Anakin himself went and fucked it up and now things are. Well. They’re _awkward_ , it’s only now that she’s taken her own advice and given him an opportunity to really prove himself that the awkwardness has started to fade.

Of course, it can’t compare to how well he’s getting along with Fulcrum, and Ahsoka did not know it was possible to be jealous of _yourself_ , but. Well. Here she is.

“Sure, how do you want me to start?” Ahsoka asks. “ _Hey, Skywalker, you know that vigilante you've been meeting up with? I’m her. Yeah, I’m Fulcrum._ ”

“Maybe don’t be so blasé about it,” says Obi-wan, sitting down next to her. Anakin’s asleep for once, and she can hear his snoring peacefully in the other room, along with the sounds of sex one floor up and someone watching _Resident Evil_ three floors down. “Do you ever plan on telling him? Or Solo? They deserve to know.”

Ahsoka looks back down on the file. _Not until it’s necessary,_ she wants to say. _It’s too dangerous,_ she wants to tell him. But knowing Obi-wan, he won’t accept either of those, all he wants out of her is the truth. She sighs.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I honestly don’t think Anakin will take it too well when he finds out.”

“You’re keeping a secret from him, of course he won’t take it very well,” says Obi-wan. “But in my experience, he tends to take it better if you _tell_ him than if, say, you pass out on your apartment floor in front of him while dressed as Fulcrum.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Ahsoka asks.

Obi-wan shakes his head. “I don’t enjoy this deception,” he says, “but I won’t betray your trust that badly. No, I won’t tell him, not until you do.”

“Thanks,” says Ahsoka, “but I wasn’t asking about that. I know you wouldn’t, but I have to ask--does he know you still want to, you know--”

“I would thank you to not complete that sentence, Ahsoka,” Obi-wan dryly says. He runs a hand through his hair, exhales, and they’re close enough that Ahsoka can make an educated guess to the flavor of Obi-wan’s toothpaste. She’s pretty sure it’s mint. “If he does know, he hasn’t said anything.”

“Speaking as the vigilante he’s been spilling his guts to for a while now,” says Ahsoka, “he’s said a _lot_ about it. Mostly something along the lines of,” and she pitches her voice a little higher to imitate Anakin’s incredibly distressed whine, “ _he’s so hot, goddammit, what am I supposed to do, did you ever really want to bang your ex and roommate like a goddamn drum?_ ”

“Did he really say that?” Obi-wan asks, his cheeks beginning to turn red underneath his beard, and Ahsoka suppresses a snort of laughter. “You’re joking. Anakin’s crude, but he barely knows Fulcrum,” he continues, the tips of his ears burning red, “even if you’ve been having conversations with him on my _fire escape_ \--”

“It’s not an _exact_ quote, no,” Ahsoka admits, and Obi-wan lets out a relieved breath, “but it’s the gist of it.”

Obi-wan’s silent for a moment, before he says, suddenly tired, “Even so--we can’t just jump into bed. Not the way we used to, in college. There’s--rather a lot of things we have to deal with first.” He glances at Gertrude the coffeemaker, sitting pretty on the counter, surrounded by screws and wires and parts and tools.

Ahsoka says, “I can’t believe you kept her, though.”

“Who?”

“Gertrude,” she clarifies, and Obi-wan raises an eyebrow.

“You and Anakin, I swear,” he grumbles. “Gertrude kept working for quite a while, I didn’t see the point to throwing it out.”

Ahsoka raises a brow--she knows better. Gertrude’s the most temperamental coffeemaker they’ve ever bought, as well as the very first, way back when they were still cramming together six hours before the first exam of finals week. Obi-wan hasn’t bothered to remove the stickers she and Anakin stuck on Gertrude all those years ago, and neither, she realizes, has Anakin.

He’s fixing what he can fix. They all are, is the thing, or else Ahsoka wouldn’t be lying to him and to Han, wouldn’t have lied to Obi-wan and Plo Koon and Barriss and so many people about what she does at night, about the anger that thrums underneath her skin and boils in her blood, about what she lets it out for.

Anakin’s rubbed off on her more than she’ll ever say.

“Talk to him,” she says, after a moment’s silence. “You’re right, you really shouldn’t jump into bed with the guy first thing, but--the last time neither of you talked, he took Palpatine’s offer.”

Obi-wan props an elbow up on the table, resting his cheek against his fist, and looks at her, with that quietly devastated look he gets whenever Anakin joining Palpatine’s law firm gets brought up, and the fallout from that. “You have a point,” he says. “But you will have to talk to him and Solo.”

Ahsoka looks back down at the file. “I will,” she promises. “Soon.”

Hopefully.)

\--

viii. If there’s one thing Anakin Skywalker has gotten very, very good at doing, it’s pretending. He’s had to be--he was Palpatine’s protégé and right hand, both in the legal and criminal worlds, and you’ve got to be good at pretending at least to get almost a year in prison.

This is just--a much less life-threatening version, pretending that his heart doesn’t skip a beat when Obi-wan’s fingers brush over his as he’s testing out Gertrude, casual as anything. He can do this, he’s a goddamn expert by now.

“You’ve done it,” says Obi-wan, marveling.

“Not yet,” says Anakin, a little tired. He stayed up much of the night to reinstall the control panel, he hasn’t polished things off quite yet. “I’ve still got a few finishing touches to make, and,” he takes a sip of the coffee and makes a face, “ _fuck_ but this is too sweet.”

He looks up at Obi-wan, whose ginger hair is mussed from sleep and whose bleary eyes are blinking at him and whose shirt is all wrinkled and too big on him and if Anakin closes his eyes he can picture their old college dorm room, the sunlight streaming in through the window, Ahsoka snoozing on the table surrounded by papers, Obi-wan sitting on the counter with a soft smile--

\--but this isn’t college, and Anakin draws his hand back before he lets himself fall further into the past.

Obi-wan blinks at him. “I thought you’d be much happier about nearly finishing your project,” he says. “You’ve been bitching about finding the parts you want for weeks now.”

“I am,” says Anakin, and he grins. “See? I’m pretty damn happy.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows furrow. “Sure, you are,” he says, skeptical. “Anakin--”

“I’m fine, Ben,” Anakin says. “Really.”

“You can talk to me, you know,” says Obi-wan, and he’s reaching out his hand to take Anakin’s, and Anakin’s traitorous heart skips a beat when Obi-wan’s fingers slip into his hand as though they’ve always fit there. “I’m--fully aware that I have not been the best person to talk to--”

“Not your fault,” says Anakin, and he should pull away but he doesn’t want to, Obi-wan’s hand is warm and though he’s tried to shake it off, working under Palpatine and then getting through prison and _then_ trying to get his shit together, Anakin’s a touchy guy by nature, the feel of Obi-wan’s warm hand is--

It’s a lot. More, he thinks, than he deserves.

“Not your fault,” he repeats, reluctantly pulling away. “I made my own choices.”

“And I never asked why,” says Obi-wan. “We. We do have to talk, you know.”

“I told you a lot already,” says Anakin.

“Not about that,” says Obi-wan, and he reaches out with his hand and stops just short of taking Anakin’s--an invitation, he realizes. “You’re not actually subtle about your talks on the fire escape, you know,” he says.

“Fulcrum talks to you?” Anakin asks. Stupid, of course she does, Fulcrum’s connected to Tano & Kenobi in some way that Anakin hasn’t figured out yet. Her likeliest role is that of an informant, and some kind of mascot-slash-protector. “I’m going to have to watch what I say around her, aren’t I?”

“Not really, no,” says Obi-wan. “She’s--a good woman, she only wanted to help.”

There’s something there, Anakin realizes, that Obi-wan’s not saying.

“You know her?” he asks, quiet.

Obi-wan lets out a long breath. “Yes,” he admits, “but she asked me not to tell.” There’s a story behind that sentence, Anakin knows, but he’s practiced enough in keeping secrets to know not to press more. This isn’t Obi-wan’s secret to give away, no more than the boy currently living with Kix somewhere outside of New York is Anakin’s secret to give away. “But everything else--you need only ask.”

“I’m fine, you know,” Anakin says, not quite taking Obi-wan’s hand just yet. “I _am_.”

“We live in the same apartment,” says Obi-wan. “You think I don’t notice if you’re staying up late most nights?”

“I’ve been fixing Gertrude,” Anakin huffs.

Obi-wan raises an eyebrow.

Anakin’s supposed to be good at pretending, goddammit. He’s not too sure when Obi-wan got just as good at seeing through it in turn.

(That’s a lie, he knows--it was over a year ago, in a sleek, soulless apartment. Or maybe in a bar, when Anakin reached out his hand and took Obi-wan’s wrist, a half-desperate idea forming in his mind, and told him he could help.)

“We are going to have to talk about it sooner or later,” says Obi-wan. “If you’re planning on staying long-term.”

Anakin opens his mouth to say that, of course not, he’s got options lined up, but--he can’t. It’s a lie, because every option he’s looked at in the newspaper or in his spare time just--doesn’t fit. It’s not in his price range, or it’s got rats, or it’s too big and too bare, as most empty apartments are.

He doesn’t want empty. He’s had enough of empty, his previous apartment was empty despite his living in it for more than a few years. He wants the coffeemaker and the stupidly domestic Sunday morning and Obi-wan’s sleep-mussed hair and late nights spent looking over files and arguing over defense strategies and--

\--home.

“I guess I am,” he says, and takes Obi-wan’s hand.

\--

(An interlude a lifetime ago:

Obi-wan walks into Room 310 to find someone already there, sprawled out on the bed nearest to the window, posters featuring underground rock bands plastered all over the wall. He’s got a large, bulky set of headphones on, and he’s mouthing along to some rock song and occasionally pumping his fist in the air.

“Um,” says Obi-wan. “Is this 310?”

The boy blinks, then sits up, slips the headphones off. “Yeah, it’s 310,” he says. “Why, you looking for somebody?”

“My roommate,” he says.

The boy’s eyes light up, and he practically leaps off the bed, a bundle of energy wrapped into an awkwardly lanky frame that nearly knocks a stack of CDs over. “You’re my roommate!” he says. “Shit--sorry about the mess, I didn’t know you were coming in early.”

He sticks his hand out and says, “I’m Anakin Skywalker. You?”

Obi-wan cranes his neck up and blinks at this boy, tall and lanky and clearly eager to impress his new roommate somehow. He huffs out a sigh, takes his hand, and says, “Obi-wan Kenobi, but call me Ben.”)

\--

Solo takes one look at Anakin and Obi-wan a few days later and says, “Did you two finally get your shit together? ‘Cause Chewie owes me thirty dollars if you did.”

Anakin crumples the paper he’s been absently doodling on into a ball and throws it at Solo’s head, to no avail--their intern catches it and, in an impressive display of maturity, sticks his tongue out at him.

“Chewie owes you thirty dollars,” Obi-wan mildly says, sipping at his mug. Anakin will never tell him, but he’s secretly found a way to program Gertrude so the coffee Obi-wan always gets is just a little bit sweeter than his usual black tar. It got him an extra night up and away from his nightmares, so that’s a small plus.

“Fuck yeah,” says Solo, smug. He glances at Anakin and says, “So how was getting laid?”

“We didn’t get laid,” Anakin says.

“But he said--”

“What I meant,” says Obi-wan, “was that we’ve worked out a few things. We’re not jumping into bed just yet, but we are trying this out.”

“Again,” says Anakin. He’s not usually one for caution, but this is--it’s something not quite new but not quite old, breakable and fragile, and one mistake could send everything crashing back down. He glances sideways at Obi-wan, who’s sipping at his coffee as casual as anything, then, tentatively, reaches out, brushes his ungloved fingers over his knuckles.

Obi-wan glances at him then, and lets Anakin’s hand slip into his.

The motion makes him feel stupidly, deliriously happy.

“Oh, god,” says Solo, “you two are _sickening_ and all you’re doing is holding _hands_.”

“They were even more in love back in college, if you can believe it,” says Ahsoka as she comes in, hanging her coat up on the rack. Her lip is split, as though something hit her very hard. “Hi, guys.”

Anakin’s crossed the room to Ahsoka in moments, instinct driving him more than conscious thought. “Are you all right?” he asks, lifting his hand and almost reaching out to her before his mind catches up to him.

He drops his hand, as Solo and Obi-wan rush forward, worrying and fussing over her and getting a dismissive wave of the hand for all their efforts.

“I’m fine, I just took a bad fall,” she says.

“Right,” says Anakin, “ _you_ took a bad fall.”

“Really, Skywalker,” says Ahsoka. “I’m fine! See?”

“You have a _split lip_ ,” says Anakin.

“I’ll have to side with Anakin on this,” says Obi-wan, “your split lip is not _fine_.”

“You guys are worse than Koon, I swear,” Ahsoka huffs. “I’m fine. I mean, it could be worse.” She glances sideways at Obi-wan, who narrows his eyes at her, and Anakin thinks, _you’re keeping something._

It rankles. He won’t lie, it _does_ rankle that Ahsoka doesn’t seem to trust him, that Obi-wan knows what it is but can’t tell him either, but--it’s not as if he’s given them reason to trust him. He’s still kind of surprised Obi-wan even let him stay in his apartment, sometimes, when he can’t sleep and he doesn’t have anything to do with his hands, has nothing that can distract him from the rapid downward spiral of his thoughts.

Solo says, “Says the woman who comes in regularly with half a dozen bruises all the damn time. The hell do you even get up to at night, lawyer-exclusive fight clubs?”

“First rule of fight club, Han,” says Ahsoka, with a lopsided grin, “is _don’t talk about fight club_ , so why would I tell you?”

(An annoyed huff, papers scattered across the coffee table. _Don’t you have any other movies that aren’t Fight Club, Skyguy?_ )

“I thought,” says Anakin, “you _hated_ that movie.”

“It has its charm,” says Ahsoka. “Once you don’t have to watch it as a post-finals tradition anymore, I mean.”

Anakin puts his hand over his heart, as if she’s wounded him. “Does shirtless Brad Pitt mean nothing to you?” he asks.

“I _like_ shirtless Brad Pitt, don’t get me wrong,” says Ahsoka, “but I have to have _some_ variety.”

“As I kept telling you,” says Obi-wan.

Ahsoka snorts out a laugh. “You just wanted to watch _A New York Winter_ again,” she says. “It’s your _Fight Club_.”

“Wait,” says Solo, his tone that of a man who has just looked into an abyss and seen it wave cheerfully back, staring at Obi-wan in horror, “you _liked_ that bullshit?”

Obi-wan huffs indignantly, says, “ _That bullshit_ , while not one of Miss Kryze’s best movies, has its redeemable points in her performance--”

Anakin glances at Ahsoka, and says, “I think we’d better leave Solo to his fate.”

“Agreed,” says Ahsoka, cheerily. “Hey, is Luminara’s place open this early?”

“No, but I’ll charm her,” says Anakin, and Ahsoka chuckles, takes his hand and leads him out of the office to Solo’s protests ( _don’t leave me here!_ ), and Anakin’s _missed_ Ahsoka, he realizes as she drags him out into the street, he’s missed her friendship for quite a long time.

Then she says, “So--you and Obi-wan.” She huffs out a breath, eyes slanting sideways towards him, and says, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Snips,” says Anakin absently, tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

Ahsoka’s jaw drops, a little. “Did you just--”

_Oh._ “I mean--” Anakin starts. Stops, runs his hand through his hair and makes a mental note to cut it, at some point. “Thanks, Ahsoka,” he says, lamely.

Ahsoka’s quiet, staring at him with an expression that really kind of worries Anakin, so he stops walking and turns to really face her.

“Look,” he starts, “I know we’re not on the best of terms,” which is an understatement, “and I figured--you wouldn’t want to hear it. Your old nickname, I mean.” Which is true, but it doesn’t delve into how he doesn’t feel like he has the right to even say it, not yet. Not until he’s made up for what he’s done to her.

Ahsoka huffs out a breath. “I don’t hate it, no,” she says. “I just got used to it. For a while back there, I even--I kind of missed it.” She shrugs, looks up at him, sucks in her upper lip. “I didn’t mind it then. I would’ve after you got out of jail, though, but now--well, I guess I don’t mind as much. Anymore, anyway.”

Anakin exhales, and straightens up. Funny, he hadn’t known he’d held his breath. “So you won't mind?” he asks.

“No, Skyguy,” says Ahsoka, with a teasing grin, “I don’t mind anymore.”

Anakin groans theatrically. “ _Snips,_ ” he says, the nickname coming out as easy as any other word. One breath, and suddenly everything seems as if it’s going to be--something close to okay. Something that almost approaches okay.

And that’s when a passing pigeon shits on him.

“Oh, _come on_ ,” he grumbles, as Ahsoka dissolves into laughter next to him.

(It’s the first time in a long time he’s heard her laugh, though, so maybe even the pigeon-shit’s worth it, in the end.)

\--

ix. “By the way,” says Ahsoka, as they stroll out of the bakery, croissants in hand, “if you hurt Obi-wan again like that--”

“You’ll hurt _me_ ,” Anakin completes. “I know, I know. I’d welcome it, probably, it’d be what I deserve.” He pauses, then says, a little self-deprecatingly, “You know, I’ve gotten more creative threats than that. None of them totally uncalled for.”

“Wow,” says Ahsoka, “you have _issues_.”

“You’re not my therapist, Snips,” Anakin says, with a huff.

“No,” agrees Ahsoka, in a tone that’s remarkably similar to a certain vigilante’s on that cold night, “I’m not.” She continues on ahead, but Anakin’s stopped dead in his tracks.

( _No, but you’re a change from the usual._ )

Anakin isn’t _dumb_ , is the thing. Sometimes willfully ignorant, stubbornly convinced that he’s in the right, sure, sometimes he plays up the secretary role a little and sometimes he can be a little gullible, but he graduated Columbia with _honors_ and a law degree, he was Palpatine’s right hand.

“Hey, Skyguy,” says Ahsoka (who might, who just _might_ be Fulcrum), craning her head back, “you coming?”

Anakin shakes himself out of his reverie, manages a smile. “Yeah, I’m coming,” he says, catching up behind her.

\--

He doesn’t tell Solo. It’s clear Solo’s not in on it, not like Obi-wan definitely is--he’s all but admitted to it himself, and maybe some time ago Anakin would’ve seen it as a horrible betrayal, that his own friends would keep such a secret from him.

He kind of does, at first. He gets why it was kept secret from him--there’s that issue of _trust_ , after all, and the jury’s still out on whether he deserves it--but it doesn’t change the fact that it _hurts_ , that somehow nothing he’s done for them is good enough to warrant being let in on this, to warrant being told this.

This could ruin his life all over again, if Fulcrum’s real name ever comes out.

He tells Padmé, when they meet up. He says, as quiet as possible, leaning on the table to whisper it to her, “I think Ahsoka’s Fulcrum.”

Padmé’s quiet for a long moment, her spoon clattering to her plate. She exhales, her breath _whoof_ ing out between her teeth, and says, “You should talk to her about that, not me.”

“Did you know?” he asks.

“ _Talk to her,_ ” Padmé says. “If I did know, do you think I could tell you?”

And she has a point--she didn’t tell him, after all, about Luke and Leia’s nighttime activities. Some part of him wonders what else is everyone keeping from him, and the thought is enough that he pushes away his food.

“Why am I the last to know about all this?” he asks. “Is it because of Palpatine?”

Padmé lets out a breath. “Luke and Leia would’ve told me much sooner if it was just because of that, I’ve never wanted to have anything to do with him after everything,” she says. “Maybe your stay with him is a factor, but--it wouldn’t be the only one.” She twirls her spaghetti around her fork, and says, “You should ask Fulcrum yourself, though. You said she drops by your fire escape regularly.”

“She does,” says Anakin, “but what am I supposed to ask her? _Hey, are you my friend Ahsoka Tano?_ ”

“Maybe don’t start with that,” says Padmé, with the tone of someone who’s had that argument before with someone else. “I think you should ease into it. And maybe gather more evidence, first, before confronting her.”

Which is actually pretty good advice, because Anakin’s initial idea was grabbing Ahsoka and asking her point-blank. Ahsoka’s a lawyer, same as Anakin (or, well, same as Anakin _was_ , and that still hurts to think about, that something so integral to his identity is just-- _gone_ , like that), she’s likely to dance around and subvert any arguments he might present right now.

And he doesn’t have any arguments, other than _you sounded like Fulcrum did, just them_. Anyone can sound like Fulcrum, he knows, they just need a mask and some way to disguise their voice. It doesn’t automatically mean that Ahsoka’s a vigilante.

He thinks of all the times Ahsoka’s come in late, of the bruises and cuts and scars she’s been sporting.

But there’s a hell of a lot of evidence in the theory’s favor.

\--

(An interlude:

“He’s getting smart,” says Padmé, the next Ahsoka ends up prone on her couch.

“Who, Luke?” asks Ahsoka. “He _is_ a smart kid--”

“I mean Anakin,” says Padmé. “He asked me if you were Fulcrum yesterday.” She wraps the gauze around Ahsoka’s arm, careful not to go too tight. “You need to be more careful,” she says, “and you need to tell him, too.”

Ahsoka lets out a long breath. “I can’t exactly--” she starts.

“He figured it out,” says Padmé. “And the first thing he did was ask _me_. Not Ben, not Luke and Leia, _me_.”

“Guess that hasn’t changed,” says Ahsoka, trying to sit up.

“I will have Luke come in here and web you to the couch, Tano, I swear,” Padmé huffs. “But you have to tell him. Or do you want what happened with Obi-wan to happen again?”

Ahsoka winces, clearly not keen on the very idea. It’s a low blow, Padmé knows, but if there’s one thing she’s learned over the past few years, it’s that sometimes low blows can get you the hit you need. “No,” she says, at last. “But I can’t really up and tell him.”

“I got you some time to think of a way to tell him,” says Padmé. “He’ll be collecting evidence to try and prove it, to himself if nothing else. _Please_ , Ahsoka, I know you barely trust him--”

“I trust him a little more now,” says Ahsoka. “We got around to talking. I mean, he’s talking to Fulcrum more often, but it still counts.”

“If you can somehow get the number of times you can talk to him with your mask off up,” says Padmé, “then I’ll be impressed. Until then, _don’t sit up_ , I _literally_ just stitched that.”)

\--

Ahsoka takes him to Maz’s, a week or so after he meets up with Padmé, and says, as Anakin’s working on his third drink, “So, uh. I’ve been trying to think of a way to say it for a while, but I honestly have no idea how, and Padmé told me you’d figured it out anyway, so I’m just going to come right out with it--I’m Fulcrum.”

Anakin stares at her.

Then he downs the rest of his drink in one go.

“Well,” he says, “at least now I know why you picked a private table.” He wipes at his mouth with his gloved hand, and says, “Who knows?”

“Padmé found me in her dumpster,” says Ahsoka, and Anakin holds in a snort of laughter--like mentor, like pupil, he supposes. “Obi-wan--it was after Oola’s murder, he went over to my place to strategize and found me bleeding out on the floor.”

Anakin says, “Wait, _why_?”

“Palpatine and Dooku,” says Ahsoka, simply. “I got--let’s just say I got very angry at them for getting Oola killed.” She grips her shot glass tight, glaring down at it, and Anakin’s heart grows tight. “We had an argument, then he left.”

“And he hit the bar,” says Anakin, putting the pieces together. Well, now he knows just what made Obi-wan’s week so terrible. He’s a little bit glad that Palpatine and all his associates are in jail, because that means they’re out of his grasp, means he can’t somehow try to tear them down even lower than he’s already done. “Solo?”

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I haven’t told him yet,” she says. “Honestly, you're the first person I’ve actually told first. Obi-wan and Padmé only found out because it was literally a matter of life and death.”

“I noticed there was a theme for them, yeah,” says Anakin. He’s sort of weirdly happy that _he’s_ the first person that Ahsoka’s actually told without, y’know, nearly dying first, but at the same time the idea that Ahsoka-- _Ahsoka_ \--is out there taking on people like Palpatine and Dooku and who Anakin used to be scares him, as much as it scares him that Luke and Leia are doing the same. “You’re not going to stop,” he says, softer now, “are you?”

Ahsoka stirs her drink with her pinky finger. “I can’t,” she says. “I’ve got these--I guess you could call them gifts? Since I was a kid.” She looks away from Anakin, nods to the man at the counter, and says, “You know that guy, over there? I can hear his heart hammering, smell his seriously cheap cologne--not very old, so I guess he’s trying to impress a date or something--and his sweat, so I’m also guessing he’s nervous.”

“You can hear a heartbeat?” Anakin asks. “From across the room?”

“I’m a walking, talking polygraph with a wider range,” says Ahsoka. “Yeah, I can.” She looks back at him, still stirring her drink. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“Trust me, I’m freaking out on the inside,” says Anakin, a little distantly surprised at how calm he sounds. Inside there’s a storm loose, inside he’s frantically running through scenarios of how this might all come crashing down on them, inside he’s seeing Ahsoka’s limp body in a ditch or floating facedown in the Hudson River, inside he’s remembering all the times he ever met Fulcrum while working for Palpatine, all the times he’s ever lied to Ahsoka. Did he ever have any secrets, around her?

But he’s gotten good at pretending. Very, _very_ good.

Then Ahsoka says, “That’s not actually healthy, you know. Bottling things up.”

“Says the woman who’s fighting people at night and not telling her partner and her employees about it,” Anakin says, and he can’t keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Even if she _really should._ ”

“Touché,” says Ahsoka. “But the point still stands.”

Anakin looks down at his drink. “I’m not even surprised,” he says, “that you didn’t trust _me_. Don’t get me wrong, I know why you wouldn’t, I get why no one would. It’s just--I guess I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“We _are_ ,” says Ahsoka.

“You spent months hanging out on Ben’s fire escape with me and I never even knew it was you,” Anakin says. “And--you never said anything about this even _before_.”

“You know I didn’t tell Obi-wan and Padmé either,” Ahsoka says, leaning forward. “And what was I supposed to say, _hey, guys, by the way, I can hear you having sex from_ \--”

“ _Snips,_ ” Anakin says, horrified. Oh, god, all those times back in college when he and Ben and, later on, he and Padmé went off to have some alone time--oh, _fuck_. “Oh, god, if Ben and I ever have sex again are we going to have to move out of the _state_ \--”

“No, it doesn’t go that far,” says Ahsoka.

“So how far does it go?” Anakin asks. “And you need to tell me everything. You know nearly everything about me, think of it like an exchange of information.” One way overdue, in his opinion.

Ahsoka waves someone over to order some whiskey, and as the man moves away, says, “Fair, but we’re going to be here _all night_ , so make yourself comfortable.”

\--

(An interlude:

Obi-wan’s expecting Anakin to come home drunk--he’d mentioned Ahsoka calling him up for a chat at Maz’s, after all--he’s just not expecting him to come home drunk through the _fire escape_.

“What,” says Obi-wan, “the _hell_.”

“Ben!” Anakin half-shouts, and all his inhibitions disappear when he’s drunk as shit, so Obi-wan’s suddenly greeted with an armful of completely drunk Anakin Skywalker. “Snips got me here,” he whispers, like he’s sharing a secret.

Obi-wan looks up at Ahsoka, who looks remarkably put-together for someone who’s a little tipsy. “Should you really be parkouring while drunk?” he asks. “Also, congratulations on finally taking my advice.”

“You give great advice,” says Anakin, nuzzling into Obi-wan’s neck. “And you smell great.”

“He’s right, you do smell great,” says Ahsoka. She’s not in costume tonight, and she’s leaning against the window frame with a grin. “Like--Like--Skyguy, help me out here.”

“Mint,” Anakin helpfully supplies.

“Thank you for informing me on how I _smell_ , you two, it’s been quite the education,” Obi-wan dryly says, tugging Anakin off him and maneuvering him to the nearby bed. “Can you go home in your current state?” he asks Ahsoka.

“Nope,” is Ahsoka’s cheerful answer.

“How did you even get up the fire escape?”

“Me,” Anakin helpfully supplies. “I’m tall.”

“Plus there was a dumpster,” says Ahsoka, scrambling through the window. Obi-wan catches her, steadies her--she’s not as drunk as Anakin, but she’s definitely not in the best of states. “Also--Also, ‘m very sorry ‘bout all the times I heard you two having sex. I swear it was an accident.”

“We don’t have to move out of the state, though,” Anakin declares. Obi-wan shakes his head--clearly, Anakin’s given the matter some thought. “Maybe move buildings, though.”

“I _told you_ , it doesn’t work so far--”

“Apology accepted,” says Obi-wan, opening the bedroom door with a hip-check. The couch is just outside, already equipped with a blanket and a pillow for the times Anakin falls asleep late. “Next time, though, perhaps consider evacuating the building.”

“ _Next time_ ,” says Ahsoka. “And duly noted.”

“ _Great_ advice,” Anakin calls behind them.)

\--

(Another interlude:

“I think Gertrude’s developed a personality,” says Ahsoka the next day, in Obi-wan’s kitchen, as she sips at her too-sweet coffee. Who puts _this_ much sugar in their coffee, she wonders.

Obi-wan, she remembers. It’s always Obi-wan.

“Machines don’t have personalities,” says Obi-wan, the only one out of the three of them not currently wallowing in misery and agony.

“Yes she has,” says Anakin, “and she’s pissed because the sun is too fucking bright.”

Ahsoka squints at him, and says, “You’re sure that’s Gertrude and not us?”)

\--

x. A year and four months after Anakin takes Obi-wan’s hand again and tells him everything, Anakin wakes up screaming.

(Two white sticks stained with _red red red_ , Padmé’s warm brown eyes sliding closed for the last time, Palpatine’s kind tone and insidiously lingering touches, Luke and Leia’s broken bodies, bloodstains blooming like red roses on Obi-wan’s suit and staining Anakin’s hands _red red red_ \--)

“Anakin!”

A voice. An anchor. Anakin reaches out, feels someone’s hand grab his wrist and tug him forward into a gentle hug. Anakin wraps his arms around their warmth (around _Obi-wan’s_ warmth), breathes in the scent of mint and safety and too-sweet coffee and _home_.

“Shh,” Obi-wan murmurs, “it’s fine, it’s all right, you’re safe. You’re all right. Breathe, Anakin. _Breathe._ ”

Anakin breathes. In, out, in, out. “Sorry I woke you up,” he manages, after a little while. “Luke and Leia--”

“They’re out right now,” says Obi-wan, and the tone makes it abundantly clear where they are right now. “Do you want me to call them?”

“Please,” says Anakin.

\--

(An interlude:

New York may be the city that never sleeps, Luke reflects, but sometimes it’s a little more sluggish than usual--like right now. No sane person wants to be out in this weather, without the necessary protection, which--probably disqualifies him and Leia for that category, honestly, considering Luke’s clad in bright red and blue spandex and Leia is, as ever, wearing a purple hoodie, sweatpants, and a homemade domino mask.

“Let’s go home,” says Leia, “we still have homework anyway.”

“Any chance I could bribe you into doing my history homework?” Luke jokes.

“When hell freezes over,” Leia shoots back, but she’s grinning nonetheless. She slings her bow over her back, puts one booted foot up on the railing. “Last one home has to take out the trash?”

“Sure,” says Luke, casually, “I hope you can stand the smell, though.”

“The smell of my victory?” Leia throws back. “Of course I can.”

And that, of course, is when Luke’s phone starts to ring. He sighs, digs it out of the knapsack he’s kept it in for the night, and tugs his glove off. “It’s Dad,” he says to Leia, waving the phone at her.

Leia tenses a little. “Answer him, then,” she says.

Luke slides his thumb across the screen, brings his phone up to his ear and says, “Hi, Dad. What’s up?”

“Luke,” says his father, voice rasping as if he just woke up. “Luke, I--where are you?”

“Fire escape near that ramen place you like,” says Luke. “Corner of 9th and 52nd. Why?”

“Can I talk to Leia?” his father asks, sounding distinctly anxious. “I just--I have to check.”

Luke covers his phone with his hand and says, “He wants to talk to you.”

“I’ve already heard his apologies,” says Leia, a little stiffly.

“No, he just wants to check,” says Luke. “For some reason.”

Leia’s face scrunches up, and she takes the phone from him, turns away to say, “What do you want now?” She perches up on the railing, the set of her shoulders tensed like she’s going to an execution.

Luke could leave. After all, he _hates_ taking out the trash, and if he were to leave now he’d get a head start on Leia. He’s almost tempted to--he could just shoot a web out at the nearest building and _swing_.

But he glances at Leia, and the tight line of her mouth. “Yes, I’m _fine_ , why are you asking?” she asks. “You know I’m busy-- _yes_ , Dad, Hawkeye things.”

Luke makes his choice, and perches next to her, his hand reaching out to rest over hers. She gives him a tired smile, and some of the tension goes out from her shoulders. “Luke and I are all right,” she says. “He talked to you already. You know that.” She’s quiet for a moment, and Luke can almost catch their father’s words if he strains to hear it-- _just worried,_ he’s saying.

“Shouldn’t he be sleeping?” Luke asks.

“Luke says you should be sleeping,” says Leia. Moments pass, then she gives a small, surprised huff of laughter. “You’re not calling Mom to borrow Artoo for improvements, the damn Roomba’s figured out how to _sass_ people. No, I’m serious!”

“Artoo doesn’t _sass_ people,” says Luke, but he can’t stop himself from grinning. No, she’s right, Artoo’s a goddamn asshole--a running theme with most machines that his father fixes is that they somehow develop personalities that can be divided into two categories, and if they’re not perpetual worriers then they’re sarcastic assholes with Anakin Skywalker’s horrendously morbid sense of humor. If not _both_.

“Because you’re Artoo’s favorite,” Leia primly says. There’s a noise from the phone, a sound like their father’s laughter, and it sounds a little surprised as well. “Yes, Dad, Artoo likes Luke better than you. Get over it.” She’s smiling again--it’s been a long time since Luke saw her smiling like this, talking to their father, hesitant yet genuine. “We’re going home now. We’ll be careful, we promise. Good _night_ , and _try_ to sleep.”

She hands Luke his phone again, and says, “Let’s go home.”)

(Luke, the next day, takes the trash out.)

\--

“Think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?” Obi-wan asks, after Anakin hangs up on his kids.

Anakin shakes his head. He feels--a little better, his chest a little more settled, the cold touch of dread faded away. He feels like he can breathe freely again, but he’s too awake to go back to sleep. He sets the phone down on the bedside table--the display reads _3:29_.

“You?” he asks.

“Well, sleep can be a bit overrated,” says Obi-wan, and the laugh that escapes Anakin’s lips is startled--it’s too early for laughter. Or too late for laughter, whichever. “Do you want some coffee?”

And Anakin says, “You say that like you think I’d say no to _coffee_ , Ben.”

\--

Anakin Skywalker kisses Obi-wan Kenobi on a lazy Sunday morning. The nightmare is all but gone, leaving only impressions of red that Anakin elects to ignore for this: the hazy sunlight streaming in through the windows, the too-sweet taste of the coffee Gertrude spits out ( _it’s a machine, Anakin, it can’t do much spitting_ ), the warmth of Obi-wan’s hand on his.

Anakin leans forward, eyes closing. For a heartbeat he wonders if he’s done something wrong, wonders if he deserves this--with what he’s done, he _knows_ he doesn’t, and maybe, maybe now this is what breaks them, what breaks the fragile little thing they’ve built in between them that Anakin calls _home_ \--

\--then Obi-wan leans forward and upward, and presses his lips to Anakin’s, tentative, terrified.

“So,” says Anakin, when they break apart.

“So,” Obi-wan echoes.

“I forgot your beard tickles,” says Anakin. “You should shave, it’s like Solo’s friend Chewbacca’s frenching me.”

“I highly doubt Chewbacca could kiss so well,” Obi-wan says, in that haughtily defensive tone of his, and Anakin snorts out a laugh, tugs him in for another kiss, tasting too-sweet coffee and mint and _home_ on his tongue.

“You think I could ask Solo if I could kiss his friend?” Anakin teases when they break away again, cups of coffee abandoned on the counter and cooling rapidly.

“You’d best not,” Obi-wan says, and reels him in for another one.

And the thing is--he’s right. 

There’s really nowhere else Anakin would rather be.

\--

fin.


End file.
